


The Public Gets What The Public Wants

by cryptonym



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy is a Sherlock Holmes fanboy, Exhibitionism, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Public Transportation, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptonym/pseuds/cryptonym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going underground can be fun, even in rush hour</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Public Gets What The Public Wants

**Author's Note:**

> Written for birdsofshore's [Anywhere But The Bed comment fest](http://birdsofshore.livejournal.com/72033.html) for vaysh's prompt _The Tube: It's not the first time this has been done but mmm, delicious: touching underneath clothes, embarrassing erections, exhibitionist tendencies (newly discovered), orgasm denial AND/OR semi-public orgasm, all while on transit in London's Tube. An appearance of Baker Steet station would be nice._

“Oh, perfect: the great Harry Potter strikes again. Not only is he the saviour of the Wizarding World as we know it, but of little old muggle grandmothers up and down the entirety of the Jubilee line.” This is said in a furious stage whisper, Draco’s breath hot against Harry’s already sweaty neck.

Harry suppresses the laughter bubbling up inside him. He’s rather enjoying himself as it happens, pressed close as he is to Draco, who is shifting restlessly in the confines of a too packed carriage.

“You didn’t have to get up as well, Draco,” Harry says, in a low voice. “Anyway, I rather like this new arrangement.” He moves a little closer his hand skimming Draco’s hip and is rewarded by the familiar flare of heat in Draco’s eyes.

“Don’t Draco me,” he says, though his words are barbless, the corners of his mouth twitching against an entirely wicked grin.

“Hey, whose idea was it to use the tube anyway?” Harry counters. “I told you that it was my opinion that the tube in rush hour is the worst muggle invention ever. But you couldn’t take my word for it. You just _had_ to see for yourself. If there’s any making up to be done it’s you who should be doing it.”

Draco shoots him an outraged look. Then the carriage lurches and Draco’s narrowed eyes widen comically as everyone standing sways. Draco, who is refusing to hold on to the bar - _It’s all clammy. It’s covered with the sweat of a thousand commuters. I’m not laying a finger on that_ \- stumbles against Harry who steadies him with an arm around his waist, pulling them flush and Draco’s grin broadens, showing his teeth as he feels the effect he’s been having on Harry pressed against him.

“Oh, Potter, you pervert!” He says, full of salacious glee.

Harry blushes, but gives Draco a hard stare. “It’s hardly surprising when I’ve got you rubbing up against me all hot and sweaty,” he says, his voice low and urgent and ever so slightly breathless. He’s still holding Draco around the waist.

The train pulls into a station, the carriage emptying out a little, then refilling with new passengers squeezing themselves in to every gap available. They’re squashed into a tiny corner at the end of the carriage, hemmed in by muggles.

Harry slides his hand up under Draco’s jacket and shirt and strokes it across the smooth, sweat sheened skin of his back, watching the flush of arousal rising from Draco’s open collar and blooming across his cheeks.

“ _You_ ,” Draco says, burning up. “You utter bastard.”

And then Draco’s hand is pressing against the front of Harry’s jeans, finding the hard ridge of his cock and stroking it. Harry bites his lip hard to keep from crying out at the exquisite, too intense, too perfect stimulation, his underwear already sticky with precome.

“Fuck, Draco,” he whispers, panting, pressing his cheek against Draco’s shoulder, his hand sliding down to squeeze Draco’s perfect, perfectly tailored, backside.

The train slows to a stop at the next station.

“How many more stops do we have?” Draco asks, conversationally, as if he’s not just unzipped Harry’s fly and slid his hand inside Harry’s underpants, wrapping it around Harry’s leaking cock. He holds on to Harry’s hip with his other hand, to steady himself.

Harry gazes up, trying to focus on the little map above the door. “Thr-ee,” he says, just as the train pulls away and Draco twists his hand in just the way he knows Harry likes it. “Oh god, Draco, I’m going to-“

“No, you’re not,” Draco says, cutting him off.

Harry’s breath hitches, a spike of panic matching his through-the-roof level of arousal. “You wouldn’t.”

“Would I not?” Draco says, amused. “Westwood,” he reminds Harry. “I’m not walking around with the memory of your _spunk_ all over me for the rest of the day.”

“I hate you, you bastard, I really, really hate you.” Harry’s body sags, even though every molecule of his being is thrumming, on edge.

Draco just grins and sucks gently on Harry’s neck, not hard enough to bruise, just enough to make Harry shudder from head to foot.

The carriage sways and lurches, Draco staggers slightly, briefly pressing hard against Harry’s hip before he steadies himself again.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says as Harry’s hand falters in its ceaseless caress of Draco’s back, half-way to Draco’s cock before the conscious thought even occurs to him.

“It’s only fair,” Harry says, trying to get his hands on Draco.

“Put your hands back where they were,” Draco says calmly but the threat in his words is obvious, and, since Harry isn’t ready for this to stop just yet, he holds on to the bar and rests the palm of his other hand against the small of Draco’s back again.

Draco leans closer and says “good boy,” right in his ear, sending a shiver up and down Harry’s spine and making his cock twitch in Draco’s hand. Draco’s grin becomes shit eating wide and Harry groans inwardly. “Well, we’re finding out all sorts of interesting things today, aren’t we?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself and stop referring to yourself as we, you fucking queen.”

Draco gives Harry’s cock a squeeze. “What was that, Potter?”

“Nothing,” Harry says, gasping, his eyes watering.

“Nothing?” Draco asks. “Nothing, what?”

“Huh?” Harry tries to suppress a groan as the train stops again and Draco’s hand stills, holding him loosely, the carriage empties a little and no-one else gets on. Harry glances over Draco’s shoulder. Most of the passengers are focused on their gadgets, books or papers, but the woman now sitting in the seat by the glass partition is giving them the surreptitious side-eye. She looks flushed. Harry winks at her and laughs softly as she looks back down at her book.

“What are you doing? Are you flirting with someone else while I’m doing this?”

Harry hums and says. “We were being watched.”

Draco starts to turn his head, but Harry pulls him back round to face him. “Don’t you dare.”

“Ugh,” Draco says. “Get your hand off my face, it’s all clammy from that bar.”

Harry puts his hand back on the bar and gives Draco a pointed look.

“Are they still watching?”

“It was only one person, and…” Harry glances up and his eyes lock with the woman’s. “Yes,” he says, an unexpected thrill going through him at the knowledge. “She’s still watching.”

“She?! What does she look like?” Draco’s hand is moving faster over Harry’s cock, bringing him rapidly to the edge.

“I don’t know, like a woman, pretty… fuck… _fuck_ , oh god, stop. Stop or I’m going to come.” Harry screws his eyes closed against the urgency of his body to release, his knuckles turning white as he grips the hand rail tighter. Draco squeezes the base of Harry’s cock hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Harry’s body tremors with minor earthquakes - just a hint of what is to come when Draco finally gets him off.

“Is she still watching?”

Harry opens his eyes again to look, his breaths still stuttering against Draco’s shoulder. The woman is staring, transfixed, her eyes glazed, fidgeting slightly in her seat. “I think she’s got a pretty good idea of what’s going on, yeah,” he says.

Draco looks round, Harry’s reflexes too sluggish, too focused on his own cock to stop him. The woman’s jaw drops as she takes in Draco in all his flushed beauty, and she unconsciously touches her hair. Harry glares at her, his chest monster growling _mine_ and he yanks Draco back to face him and kisses him hard, knocking his glasses askew.

Someone makes a disgusted noise and Harry pulls out of the kiss to give the bloke a fierce look. The man shuts up and moves along the carriage. Draco reaches up with his free hand to set Harry's glasses straight, with a smug little smirk.

At the next station a flood of people push their way into the carriage and the woman is hidden from sight. Harry doesn’t know whether he wants to come or go. Draco is sliding his hand up and down just enough to keep him right on the very edge, stopping when Harry gives himself away with his body and his breath, losing hold of his tightly held control, huffing _stop, stop_ every time, shivering uncontrollably with need.

“The next stop is us, Draco,” Harry says, warning in his tone along with the desperation.

Draco gives his cock another stroke, making Harry shudder, and tucks him carefully away, wiping his hand against Harry’s already sticky underwear and zipping him up. He gives Harry another caress over the top of his jeans.

“Ugh, bastard,” Harry moans, and Draco grins.

The train slows, pulling in to Baker Street station and Draco takes Harry’s hand to help him across the gap and onto the platform with his jelly legs.

“Look! Look at the walls!” Draco exclaims, and Harry can’t help but laugh at Draco’s excitement at seeing the famous silhouette of Sherlock Holmes in his deerstalker, pipe in mouth, on the tiles. But then he sees the smaller ones, the full image on each tile. “I want one,” he says, and before Harry can think to stop him, Draco has loosened one of the tiles with a spell, brushing against it and slipping it inside his jacket sleeve like a seasoned kleptomaniac.

“Draco, you’re not supposed to just take them.”

Draco gives him an innocent look. “Take what?”

Harry sighs and goes back to trying to think his erection into going down. The escalator is torture, two steps down from Draco, staring at that beautifully clad arse with his mouth watering. He is far too turned on to function properly.

Draco hares off ahead once they get to the top, spelling the barrier open and striding through. In many ways he is still as much of a prick as he ever was, Harry thinks, swiping his Oyster card over the reader and waiting for the barrier to open jerkily.

“Where is it then?” Draco asks, once they’re outside. “We’re in the wrong place.” It’s adorable how panicked he looks.

“We have to walk for a bit.”

Draco gives Harry a haughty look. “I thought this tube thing took us right to it. Muggles are ridiculous - the floo network is so much more convenient.”

“I tried to tell you,” Harry says, but Draco is practically vibrating with excitement again and isn’t listening. “You are such a fanboy,” Harry says fondly, stroking Draco’s arm, and even that sends another shiver of lust through his body.

It’s only a five minute walk, but his skin feels too tightly stretched from his naval to his knees, humming with need, and it he feels like it must be obvious to everyone. Draco is babbling something about how Holmes was clearly a wizard.

Harry snorts. “You’re joking. He was a muggle… no, he was a fictional character made up for entertainment purposes.”

Draco looks at him outraged. “You buy into all that rot about it all being just a story. He’s no more imaginary than you or I. No, he had to be a wizard: all those deductions, he clearly had some magical ability. I bet he would have been in Slytherin too, had he gone to Hogwarts.”

Harry stares at him, incredulous. “How on earth do you work that one out?”

“It stands to reason – the greatest detective of any age, he introduced the world to forensic science.”

“Yes, exactly, science! So there’s no way he could have been a wizard.”

Draco smirks. “Are you going to tell Snape’s portrait that science doesn’t exist in the magical world or shall I let him know your thoughts?”

Harry blanches. “Er, let’s keep that one between us. But if he was going to be in any house it would be Ravenclaw.”

Draco scowls at him. “He was ambitious.”

“No, he loved knowledge for the beauty of knowledge. Honestly, Draco, I thought you were a fan.”

“Fuck off, Potter or I’ll leave you like that all night,” Draco says, brushing his fingers across the front of Harry’s jeans accidentally-on-purpose, setting him shuddering again.

Harry grimaces. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Draco smirks.

“You can have Mycroft. And Moriarty if you want him,” Harry says, pressing on. “But Holmes would have been in Ravenclaw.”

“Fine, I’ll take Mycroft _and_ Moriarty.” And he licks his lips, clearly thinking about the television adaptation they had been watching last night.

“I bet you will.”

Draco leers, but then he spots their destination and his eyes get wide and delighted, like a child on Christmas morning. “There it is!”

They have to cross the road (Draco nearly gets mown down by a white van and turns to glare at the driver yelling _I’m walking here_ , and Harry rues the day he introduced Draco to muggle television) and then Harry has to drag him out of the shop once they’ve bought their tickets ( _Look, this violin has been shrunk, further proof that he’s a wizard._ \- _It’s a miniature you idiot._ ).

Draco wants his picture taken with the policeman standing outside the front door, and inside with the hats on their hooks and sitting in Holmes’ chair by the fire and with every single bloody creepy waxwork.

It’s not until their second visit to the living room that Draco casts a Misdirection charm just outside the door and bends Harry over Holmes’s wingback chair, pulling down his jeans and pants to his thighs in one swift movement, then his own trousers, casting a careful barrier charm over them.

“Draco,” Harry says, but it sounds more like breathless anticipation than the admonishment he meant it to be. “We can’t.”

“Too late,” Draco uses the lubrication spell for speed and pushes into Harry’s arse.

“And you say I’m a pervert,” Harry says, grunting at the feel of being suddenly very full.

“Shut up and bring yourself off.”

Draco holds on to Harry’s hips, thrusting in and out at punishing speed. Harry wraps his hand around his own cock and it takes no more than four well practised strokes for him to come all over the sagging cushion, shuddering from head to foot, and crying out a high pitched whine. Draco groans and thrusts harder until he is coming as far in Harry’s arse as he can get and moaning _fuckfuckfuckyesssss_.

“You are a sick man,” Harry says afterwards, cleaning off the chair with a spell and dressing himself again. “This is what you wanted all along, wasn’t it?”

Draco just smirks, straightening the cuffs of his shirt and his jacket and smoothing the lines of his trousers. “I think we might as well Apparate back.” With a pop he’s gone. Harry runs a hand through his hair. Yep, in some ways Draco is just as much of a prick as he ever was. Harry goes back down to the gift shop and picks up one of the tiny violins in a case, complete with teeny-tiny bow taking it to the till to pay and then he strolls the couple of miles back to Grimmauld Place, letting the sun warm his skin, enjoying the languid feel of his thoroughly sated body.  



End file.
